Page 18 of Rookie Recovery

“So there’s no injury?” My throat felt dry. My tongue swept out to moisten my lip, and Bowman’s green eyes homed in on my mouth like emerald lasers. Fuck. “We have other massage therapists.”

And I should tell him to go see one of them.

“No injury.” Bowman pried himself off my door with the elegance of a panther. Strode across the room, hopped on the table. And proceeded to swing his legs back and forth like a kid. “So, what do you say, Kitty? Want to give me a rub?”

Fuckin’A. Was it warm in here?

The professional thing would be to send him to another massage therapist for his rub. But … My finger slid behind the collar of my button-down. “Where at? Shoulders? Back?”

“I mean, if you want to be boring.” His grin was as filthy as the thoughts almost certainly swirling around in that pretty head. He relaxed his legs, and they opened into a soft V. “Or we could try something a little less PG?”

“For fuck’s sake, Bowman.” I groaned, levered myself out of my chair. I deserved some kind of award for resisting him through this. “I told you not to make this weird. I’m the team PT. I’m not going to do anything inappropriate.”

“Oh?” Bowman’s eyes practically glowed. “Is that a challenge?”

Yes.

“No. You really think I’d risk my job like that?”

“Would you?” He tilted those beautiful green eyes up at me, unflinching. “I promise I’d make it worth it. And I can be casual. No strings.”

My dick took note of the implication behind those words, and I reminded it—and myself—that none of this was happening. I wasn’t going to be some plaything for his teenage fantasies. Or worse, the butt of his joke.

“No.” I propped a hip against the table, keeping well away from his slightly splayed knees. “We can do a professional massage and stretch, or you can go take up yoga. Or ask one of our designated masseuses. Up to you.”

I crossed my arms. Mimicking his earlier posture of careless cool. Or, at least, my best approximation of it, since absolutely nothing about me was careless or cool. In fact, I was about one more once-over or dirty word away from taking him up on his offer.

“I’d love to get those magic fingers on my shoulders.” Bowman gave me a final grin, and whipped his shirt over his head. Again.

And any semblance of my calm and cool vanished in the blink of an eye. Or the flick of white cloth, as it were.

He scrunched the T-shirt up, the thick muscles in his arms bunching with the movement, and tucked it under his head. Leaned back, slowly, so very slowly, and I got a long look at the slow extension of every flexed muscle in his abdomen as he reclined. “You coming, Kitty?”

Fuck, he knew how good he was. He knew how to play this game, almost as well as he knew the one out on the ice. He’d probably fucked his way through half of America with moves like that.

Not that I hadn’t played the same game, once upon a time.

“My name is Jamie.” I leaned halfway over the table, careful to touch nothing and keep my eyes on his face. “And you have to roll over if you want me to rub your shoulders.”

“Oh, we’re sticking with that?” He beamed that filthy smirk up at me, then slowly rolled himself over.

Which left me staring at the backside of him. Lord, give me strength. That ass—

All of him, actually. His body was all lean, athletic muscles, carefully crafted into the perfect blend of power and speed, agility and strength. Hard and honed and young.

Perfection. He was perfection.

And I was a goddamn professional. I set my hands down on his shoulders. Dug my thumbs in. And I rubbed.

Bowie groaned.

The sound went right to my dick, but no, no, I did not notice. Didn’t notice that or the hardness of his muscles beneath my fingertips, the smooth arch of his spine, the softness of his skin. I wasn’t wondering if the faint little moans coming from his perfect lips were anything like the sounds he’d make if I moved my hands down, or pressed my lips to his throat, or—

Fuck. I needed some cold-shower type thoughts. Fast. Before my pants started feeling tight.

I needed to get myself under control. Get the situation under control. Stop letting some cocky kid get a rise out of me by making goo-goo eyes in my direction.

I knew better.

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